Never in Your Favor
by we'll-fade-away
Summary: Doesn't the title say it all? A recording of each death, each from the tribute's point of view.
1. Death One: Girl, District Three

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself.**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

. . .

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death One: Girl, District Three_

. . .

**_I_** feel like I'm prepared. I'm ready for this. Ready to win.

Because I've been ready all my life for this moment, I know that I'm able to win this. I can easily survive with the other tributes dying by my hand. This is what I was born to do. This is what I know. Sure, it's usually from the 1st, 2nd, and 4th districts that are usually trained to win, but my family was prepared. I didn't get the best, but I got it pretty well, an education, and help - I know some self defense, and I stand a chance.

I glance around quickly to size up my opponents. Not bad. I'll ally myself with the other careers like I've carefully planned. Then, I will figure a way to kill them. Maybe in their sleep I can stab them or poison them. Either way, it will be an easy task. I'm strong. I'm heavy and healthy.

I know I can win this.

If I don't, I have no idea what could happen. After all, I need to get home. I want to see my older brother again. He's so good to me. When he visited me in that hour after the Reaping, Joel gave me my district token and told me that he knew I would win. Lucky Joel, he passed through the eligible without being called at the Reaping.

I look again at the other tributes. The small girl from District 11 quickly shoots her expression downwards; she'd been staring at me. _I can take her out, first_, I decide. _She's small and easy to catch, it looks like. Vulnerable._

A loud banging noise rings out, and I spring forward. Towards the Cornucopia I run, my short black hair whipping behind me. I grab the first weapons I can find: a packet of knives. Quickly, I whirl around with them and stab at the first person within reach.

It's not the little girl from 11 but the chubby boy from District 5. My serrated knife catches him at the collarbone. His blue eyes glare into mine for a moment, and then he sinks to the ground. I don't pull the knife from his neck, from the bleeding wound.

Instead I begin to run now, away from the Cornucopia.

But a hand grasps my jacket hood. "Unh!" I gasp.

It's Clove, the girl from 2. "Those are my knives," she informs me, spitting venom. With one quick movement, the packet's out of my hands and in hers. Clove clutches them tightly for a minute, and then she, still hanging onto my hood, grabs a random knife from the pile.

She smiles wickedly. "This won't hurt a bit," she says almost sweetly. But I can feel the searing pain as the knife breaks skin, as it punctures the fatal wound on my neck.


	2. Death Two: Boy, District Four

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself.**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

**.A bit of cussing in this death. **

. . .

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Two: Boy, District Four_

_. . .  
_

If anything, I'll die by a Career. No way in hell will I die by a filthy, wimpy tribute. I'll die with honor if I die at all.

I would hate for everybody at home to see me be killed by a coward. It's insulting to my entire district. So no matter what, I will perish with dignity. Even if it means dying today at the bloodbath. It's pride that matters, not what happens.

The words my mentor told me often flood through my head: "Try. Try harder than anything. But if you can't hang on anymore, give up, but go down with a fight." I remember asking why the first time, and his reply was, "To give the Capitol entertainment."

But I don't give a damn about the Capitol's happiness. Not right now, anyway. I need to keep my dignity floating tall above the water.

My "competition" is weak. One boy is even crippled. These people don't stand a chance against me.

Of course, those are the smaller ones. The baby from 11, that annoying fire girl from 12, the red-head from 5. They'd be easy to take out. But the other Careers, I might have a problem with.

No bother. So long as they are the ones to kill me. Even in death, I would be humiliated if I were killed by someone from a poor district.

As soon as I hear the gong ring out, I brace myself. Whatever bloody death lies ahead of me is there, and I can't change that.

I expect it, but it still surprises me when I feel a sharp pain in my arm. I turn and see the girl from District One, Glimmer, poised shakily barely six feet away from me with a silver bow and arrows. One of her arrows struck me, but her aim was way off.

I glare mockingly at her for a moment, but then she shoots another that punctures me in the stomach. I hadn't realized how damn _sharp_ those arrows are. I look down at the growing stain of crimson on my dark jacket.

I can only gape at this, so I don't notice that Glimmer is stabbing me in the heart with a new arrow. Figures that she isn't using the bow. Her aim is terrible.

I barely have time to think before I fall to the ground, Glimmer trying to pull the arrows from my body. 

_At least I've died at the hands of a Career._


	3. Death Three: Boy, District Five

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself.**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

. . .

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Three: Boy, District Five_

. . .

I think of Atala, the woman who was in charge back when we were all allowed training. She was nice and helpful.

Of course, Atala can't help me here, now.

Because now, I'm all alone.

I can't ally myself with anyone. I'm not wanted. Before the Reaping, I never talked to anybody often, anyway. I didn't have any enemies; I was just quiet. I know they don't want to see me die. But, still, they probably want to see the other tribute from our district, 5, win more than they want me too.

I'm sure that even Mother, Father, and Alexis, my six-year-old sister, would rather have her win. Even I would. If I survive, I know that I will feel guilty for all the deaths that are my fault. I'm not going down without killing others, I know this, but I will feel something close to guilt afterwards.

This arena is hell in a different form than usually thought of.

Instead of red flames licking up into the cave walls, far beneath the earth's crust, we're in a forest-type area, a plain, and a field of tall grass and grains. I know where I'm hiding, no contest.

I brace myself for when the gong rings, and when it does, I try to run, but I feel as if I am frozen in place. I will my legs to move but they don't comply.

I finally move. It must not have been as long as I thought, the time I was frozen in place, because the others are barely in action.

Yes! I make it to the Cornucopia. Groping around for a weapon, I see there aren't many options. I can't use any of these weapons, I never practiced with them! Fear grips my heart, and I already know I've lost.

A pack of knives. I grin and am about to reach out for them—anybody can use a knife. But someone else grabs them. And she rips one out of the package and reaches out with it, not even looking. Is she that cocky? To not even look when she's about to take a life?

Then I feel the knife pierce my neck and she's looking at me. I stare hollowly, but at the same time, full of hatred at her. Then my eyes roll into my head, and I see black.

I think of Atala again. She was kind, she tried to help.

But nothing can help me now.


	4. Death Four: Boy, District Six

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself.**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

**Thank you to: **Me, Geth, District Nine Tribute, Career Tribute, Nicky, and HIT **for your kind reviews. I replied, I think, to your reviews, but at the anonymous reviewers: (**Me**)Thanks! Yes, I know that D-3 isn't a career district. I added something in, I think to kind of fix that; (**D-9 Tribute**) Don't worry, I'll work on that death extra hard for you =) ; (**Nicky**) You have my brother's name! Lol, but yeah, I'll use more detail further down the line, don't worry. I'll be redoing these, too, the already-written ones, I think.**

. . .

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Four: Boy, District Six_

_. . .  
_

Telling myself that I'm going to die is not an easy task. I'm still in denial about it. It's hard to believe that just a week ago, I was at home, sitting in a hard chair at school, listening to the teacher drone on and on about why our district does the job it does.

So much has changed.

I'd give anything to hear that awful, fly-buzz voice again. To be sitting in a wooden chair on the verge of falling asleep because of how often I had heard that lesson.

But now I'm in the arena for the Hunger Games. The Reaping has replayed in my mind so, so many times. It feels like a nightmare but I know it's happening. It's a feeling I had as a younger child, quite often: There was always that bad dream that I couldn't escape from.

But I won't be waking up from this one.

Maybe in this nightmare, I'll actually get to the part of my death. In fact, I'm sure that I will.

The gong rings out, and I begin to back away, watching the carnage already taking place. "Oh, no…," I barely manage to whisper.

I watch as others are stabbed by the vicious-looking girl from District 2, others' heads snapped by the boy from the same district, maces swung by tributes I do not remember, spears flung, swords slashing about bodies.

Really, I do need to get away. Instead of backing up like I have been, I whirl around and begin to run to the forest. A voice stops me. It's soft and gentle, and automatically, I look up. I recognize this voice.

It's Reama, the girl from my district. My breath catches in my throat. "Hello," she's whispering. "Look…I am sorry. I really, really am. But…" Reama looks sympathetic as she taps her spear lightly on the grass once. She lifts it up.

Reama and I were friends. She lived right near me and we've known each other since I was born—I'm a year younger than she is. Reama and I always got along well, and I've spent a lot of my time with her, just hanging out.

Now she's the one to end my life?

The girl I trusted, the girl I felt like was a sister?

This isn't the best way to die. Maybe I knew that I was going to die this whole time, since the Reaping happened and I was called forward, but I never imagined—not in my worst of nightmares—that my friend would be the one to kill me.

I spent so much of my living days with her. She's taking it away from me.

I feel tears welling up in my eyes. Reama sees them and looks away.

Then, with a glint I've never seen in her blue-gray eyes before, she raises the spear, and I'm powerless to move.

What is that in her eyes, anyway? Hatred? No, that can't be right. Because Reama doesn't hate me. I know this for sure. It's not exactly sorrow, either.

I gasp as a sharp pain blinds my train of thought. The spearhead is deep in my chest. I try to choke out a word to her, but I can't. I guess I'll never know what that glint in her eyes was.


	5. Death Five: Girl, District Six

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself.**

**.Thank you Sole for the name Jacon pronounced Jason and the katana idea, cuz I don't know weapons. At all. And your knowledge slightly scares me :P  
**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole and my emo songs :D (I LOVE YOU STONE SOUR!). Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review! **

**Thank you to: **San** for your kind review. I replied to it over YIM, sort of, but thanks again!**

. . .

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Five: Girl, District Six_

_. . .  
_

Unlike the Girl Who Was on Fire—I haven't bothered to remember her name—I didn't make a promise to a little sibling that I would win the Games. Instead, I made a promise to myself.

The reaping was purely awful. It was bad enough when I heard our district escort announced my name in an upbeat voice, as if it was great that I was going to head my way into a blood fest. She had grinned when she called my name, and I'll never forget that happy look in her eyes.

Then the reaping got worse.

"_Reama! Come on up!" the escort beamed after I failed to move when my name was called the first time. I willed myself to move stiffly towards the stage. I stood there, unmoving, my face pained. Then she called out, even more cheerfully than before, "Jacon Baran."_

_At that moment, I was sure my heart stopped._

_Jacon Baran was, in short, my best friend._

I look at him sadly, but he doesn't meet my eyes. Of course, he won't. I'm sure he's already figured out my plan, but I hope he doesn't.

I know I'll never forgive myself for this.

Since I was little, I was taught to keep promises, to respect rules. "Always, always follow up on your word." So I have to make sure I do exactly what I told myself I would: Fight to the end. Don't die. Kill who you have to kill.

Following this rule…it is the best choice. I know that for sure.

As soon as the gong rings out, I sprint towards the Cornucopia, faster than I have ever run before. I grab the first weapon I see, a spear, and then twirl around like the ballerinas I would see on television when I was little, towards the outskirts of the field.

And I run.

I find myself already there, waiting, when Jacon is hurrying full speed to get away from the bloody scene.

Waiting for him is easier than I expected. He doesn't see me yet. "Jase," I mutter. "Jacon, I'm sorry."

He flinches, almost, then looks at me, eyes wide. It's clear that he can hardly breathe. Such easy prey.

"Hello," I say quietly. "Look…I am sorry. I really, really am. But…" I give my spear a tap, excitement running through my veins. He looks as if he's calculating something.

Then I drive my spear forward.

After that, I start to rush away, my hair flapping back behind me. I've made it away from the Cornucopia! I've made it away, and I'm surviving!

There's a figure not too far off. I rub my eyes with one fist, thinking I'm just not seeing correctly. But it's there. I know it's a person, but who?

I stop moving. It's a stupid thought, that people are like animals and can't see others if they move, or that it confuses them. Because it doesn't confuse _him_. He lumbers forward.

It's the boy from District One.

He's large. That's nearly all I can think at the second. My next thought is to flee.

I'm shaking now. More worried than I was. Because at the Cornucopia, there were so many kids. I didn't have to bother. No one would go after me.

But now, with the career from District One.

He's got something in his hand.

He raises it menacingly. I know the weapon from practice, though I'd never know it otherwise. It's a katana. As he nears, he holds it out.

I'm trembling so hard that I can hardly move. I manage to back away slightly, but I'm feeling so sick now. As I go crumpling to the ground, the boy from District One slashes down the katana.

Winning the Hunger Games. A promise I was unable to keep.


	6. Death Six: Girl, District Seven

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself.**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

. . .

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Six: Girl, District Seven_

_. . .  
_

Truth or Dare. A fun game to play when I was little with my friends. I always squirmed uncomfortably when asked about who I liked or who my best friend was, but I was born to choose "dare." It was my favorite thing to choose, and I always complied. "Shout like an idiot, climb that tree even though the limbs are thin"—I remember falling, too, because of how weak it was—"kiss that boy over there, dump your dinner on your head."

But those were all silly things. Things that didn't matter whether or not I did. They weren't "Kill twenty-three other kids."

When I was dared to do that, I didn't think I would be able to breathe. I almost choked, really. The Hunger Games isn't really a dare I could back down from, though. And now that I am here, I'm determined to win.

In those last moments before going to the Capitol by train, three of my best friends visited me. I remember it so clearly that it hurts. Clari, Fable, and Jara told me in unison, their voices sure, "We dare you to win."

Even at our age, fifteen, I haven't backed down from a dare.

So this whole thing, it almost seems like a game. Because I've never turned down a dare, I can't just throw away this one. And I played Truth or Dare as a kid, and I've never backed down in that game…

I'm grasping at straws, but this is something. It's a way to keep me sane here. It's a way to convince myself to kill and to do what it takes to win.

I don't want to let my friends down. I know that daring me was the way that they could assure themselves that I'd make it home. Knowing them, they're watching anxiously right now, hoping with all their hearts that I'll keep my word and get this dare over with.

What if they're wrong, though? The thought makes me shudder.

I've got to stay confident if I want to win this game.

As the gong's ring resonates over the field, I feel fear welling up in my chest. But then the genuine fright is quickly overcome with something close to excitement, to a bubbling laugh of nervousness. The way I often feel before going through with something I was dared to do.

If I am able to treat the Hunger Games like a round of Truth or Dare, I don't think it will be that hard. The more that I ponder over it, the easier it becomes in my mind.

"I dare you to kill whoever's in your way first," I mutter to myself. Then I throw myself forward into the immediate massacre.

I feel weapons swinging at me, slashing away. A deep, disgusting and not particularly shapely gap opens on my shoulder, warm liquid seeping out, pouring over my arm. The right arm of my jacket's soaked and sticky in less than a minute.

But I manage to get myself away from whomever did that.

This wound is huge. I stop for a moment to gape at it. With a surprised, unsure hand, I touch it with my left fingers, whimpering slightly. What had made this? How could I not even have looked up at whomever had injured me?

My fingers are now glistening darkly, and I groan softly.

There's an almost cruel laugh, and my head snaps up. Before I'm able to register it, a weapon is swung at me, catching my body in the stomach. A huger wound than the one on my shoulder opens immediately.

I give a weak cough, something thicker than spit spraying out, splaying on my hands and the grass around me. Oddly, I'm lying on the ground now. How did I get onto my back? Oh, my stomach, my stomach, it hurts…

My eyes begin to close, flickering open and shut a few times. I can barely make out a face above me. I'm sure that this isn't what it is saying, but these are the only words in my mind as my eyes close again: "Dare you to die."


	7. Death Seven: Boy, District Seven

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself.**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

**.Wow, sixteen reviews? Yay!**

**Thank you to: Geth, Bittersweet Musings, Nicky, Saph, Daydreaming, Montague Disciple, and Jane for your kind reviews. ****I replied, I think, to your reviews, but at the anonymous reviewers: (**Nicky**) Thank you! I got the 'dare' idea in the shower, lol, and I'm glad you like it!; (**Jane**) Thank you, too! But what'd you mean, by the way, by "**.Not.."**?**

. . .

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Seven: Boy, District Seven_

_. . .  
_

This entire time, I've been trying to have a different take on everything. When I heard my name called at the reaping, I thought, _Surely, I'm walking into death. _But if I look at it differently, it'll help me, I think.

If I look at the Games with a positive outlook, it'll give me courage. As soon as I figured that out, I decided, _I'll win. I'll hide, I'll kill, I'll win._ I smile now, completely confident. _I know I can win._

I'm not from the _best_ district, of course, but we've had winners before. So why should I count myself out? I've a fighting chance. And if I go down…I wouldn't hold it against myself, but I don't think I will die.

Really, I think that I will stay alive. I honestly think that I'll be able to pull it off.

When the gong rings out, I throw myself into the thick of things. It's the best way to kill. It's the best way to get ahead. I'm sure I'll get a little hurt, but who doesn't, here?

Easily I grab a weapon from the Cornucopia, a small, sharp dagger. I use it to slash away, but I just catch air, mostly. Whoever I do stab seems to get away. I don't pursue anybody. That could end badly.

I work my way out, sweeping my dagger out at whomever tries to get at me.

But by the time I'm almost cleared, I see someone.

Immediately, automatically, my dagger flashes out. I don't know who it is, and really I don't care. I can't even know what sort of weapon they're holding because I don't want to see.

Oh, wait, I do, though. It's a sword. My dagger is a quarter of the size of that.

I feel the need to run.

But no. I need to stay confident. I look out at the boy. He's glaring at me, sword glinting painfully bright in the sun's light.

Got to get away. Got to get away.

No. Remain confident.

I don't know what to do. I'm torn between running and fighting.

But I can't choose which. I don't have the guts to make the right decision. Get away! Run! There's not enough time, it seems.

Because in a second, the boy is on me, his sword sticking straight out.

I put a brave look on my face, praying that if the cameras are on me, I look okay. For myself, for anyone watching. I don't want to look afraid.

_Remain confident,_ I tell myself, and then the world goes from colorful, to bright, blood-red, to black, accompanied by a terrible pain.


	8. Death Eight: Boy, District Eight

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself.**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

**Thank you to: Saph, FruitySkittles, Montague Disciple, HIT, Geth, and Daydreaming for your kind reviews. I PM'd all of you back, so this is a rather short thank-you today....**

**.Not my best chapter, I think. But enjoy! :)  
**

. . .

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Eight: Boy, District Eight_

_. . .  
_

**_I_**t's weird how the reaping works. I didn't really think that my name would be called.

Honestly. Even though I must've had fifteen slips in that bowl, I didn't think that it'd be me to be called up to the stage, me to go to the Capitol, me to be locked into a huge arena to fight with other kids, me to die.

There were thousands of slips.

Mine was chosen.

I still can't believe it, even though I'm here. Even though the Games are about to begin.

I can't really accept the fact that I'm going to die.

It's a fact, something I know will happen, but I don't want it to. Yes, no one wants to die. But I don't think that anyone else lay awake ever single night since the reaping, crying and crying, wishing that he or she could just be home again, in bed. Glad that he or she wasn't the one who was called at the reaping.

Most of the other tributes, they think that they at least have a shot at surviving. But they don't. And I wish I could tell them that. Because only one tribute will win. Judging by the largeness, the health, and the weapons, it will surely be a Career. Or that sullen one from District 11.

I don't think that I'll be able to fight. It's something I want to be able to do but don't think I can. The fear that's gripped me since the day of the reaping holds its tight clutch on my chest still, always growing, always getting colder.

And I am not a fighter. I'm just a fifteen-year-old from District Eight who had to put in tesserae a few times. I wouldn't be able to hurt someone else simply because I don't know how.

So when the gong rings out, I stay standing where I am. Resigned to my fate.

Quickly enough, someone's running at me. I feel a tear in my eye and blink it away. I can't go down crying. I've cried enough this past week. A baby in a teenager's body.

I don't recognize my killer, as I don't look. I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see anything else. After I die, I wonder what'll happen to me.

Sure, my body will be shipped back home. But what about _me_? There's got to be more to a person than their body. Personality. Aspiration.

But we've never been taught that. Just simply about the Dark Days, about our District's industries.

As if there's nothing else to learn.

But I'm sure there's more to me, to people, to everything. We can't just be hard shells living in a place like this.

And I'm hoping right now that there's something after life, because I feel the sharp blow to my back and I'm falling, falling…I can't even feel it when my body hits the ground.

Everything is black. Perhaps there isn't anything after life.


	9. Death Nine: Girl, District Nine

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself.**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

**Thank you to: Nicky, Montague Disciple, SlapphappySpazzes, and Geth for your kind reviews. I am pretty sure I PM'd you all except for Nicky, because I can't PM someone without an account :p So: (**Nicky**), thank you for the review! Glad you're looking forward to more.**

. . .

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Nine: Girl, District Nine_

_. . .  
_

This was never part of my plan. My whole life—I had it all planned out. I was so organized before I was called at the reaping. Now my life is in chaos.

I knew when I was going to work, when I was going to school, when I was going to sleep. I even knew when I was going to go to the _restroom._ Since my district's escort announced my name, I've been in disarray. Because I don't know what the outcome will be.

Able to plan out my week, though, I did. I mapped out which training stations I'd go to, when. A few things, though, were out of my control. Who my stylist was, what she made me wear. What my training score would be—a five. A low, horrible _five._ I don't have much talent in what I learned.

Now in the Hunger Games…I don't know. I just don't know.

Whatever the outcome is, I'll have never seen it coming. And I really, totally, completely hate that.

Back at school I always was the top of my class. My family, we were pretty well supplied. So I've never even thought of putting "Getting called at the reaping: Sunday afternoon" in my planner.

I wish I had.

Now I wait for the gong to ring. At least I know when _that_ is going to happen. Just thirty seconds now…. I tick away the time in my mind. _29 seconds…28 seconds…27…26…._

When suddenly, all the time seems to stop. Even though I'm counting precisely, the seconds seem slower. My senses seem heightened, but when I try to blink, my eyelids move to slowly. It's as if I'm in a dream. One where I can't move.

I didn't plan to freeze up this way.

But now there's only a few seconds left and I'm unprepared. _Five…four…three…two…._

And I hear the gong ring loudly.

As much as I tried to plan for the Games, I never could. Never really knew what the arena would look like so I couldn't. But within this minute, I've devised somewhat of a plan. It's risky but I'll have to try.

Taking out a Career by a girl from District Nine…surely that's never been attempted before. Until now, of course. If I can kill a Career, I'll have power under my belt. Power is something I need right now. I need a plan and this is what came to mind.

So I run to the Cornucopia and grab a spear. Then I sprint towards one of the kids from the wealthier districts. I recognize him as the boy from Two. I heave my spear at him, but he easily rips it from my grasp, and I cry out.

As the large boy drives the spear back at me, I see a quick replay of what just happened. See him twisting it away from my hands without effort. And as the spearhead enters my skin, pushes itself through my vitals, I think, _This wasn't part of the plan._


	10. Death Ten: Boy, District Nine

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself.**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

**Thanks to: Anda, for your kind review.**

**.A rather short chapter, despite the fact that it's for the boy from D-9, the boy with the backpack. **

. . .

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Ten: Boy, District Nine_

_. . .  
_

I think I'll go down fighting. Well, hopefully not "go down," at all, but fight. Even though I'm from District Nine—not a Career, not someone important, really—I'll try. I have to at least attempt to win this. Dying…it's not something I've ever wanted to experience, not yet.

Once I know that I am going to attempt this, I feel settled, content. But not relaxed. Never relaxed.

Relaxation's not safe. If I become relaxed, my guard is down. I can't let my guard go down. I have to fight, have to try.

As soon as I hear a bell-like sound but louder, deeper, I streak away from my designated spot towards the glinting Cornucopia. There! An orange backpack! It could help me, keep me safe, hold what I need.

Because of this, I lunge for it.

A girl with a dark braid that's already begun to become unraveled—the girl from 12, the girl who was on fire—grabs at it at the same time I do. Angrily, I tug it towards myself. I deserve it, I need it more. She pulls on it desperately, and for a second, I feel my heart stop.

Complications. I don't want this girl going for this backpack. I need this backpack. More than she does. I have to win, I have to try!

With a burst of power, I pull it back at myself, and she stumbles. I give it another tug, but she counters. It goes on like this for many long moments, agonizingly long. Who knows how much time we've spent doing this?

Suddenly, there's a sharp pain in my back, and I cough involuntarily, letting go of the straps of the orange pack. The blood from my throat manifests itself on the girl's face, and I can't help but think how repulsive it looks there, my blood on her skin, her nose, her lips, her eyes.

Then I stagger downwards, and my blood drips onto the grass. All I've done is pull at a backpack. I didn't even get to go down fighting. I haven't even really tried.


	11. Death Eleven: Girl, District Ten

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself. **

**.Special thanks to Sole for helping me figure out weapon names. He's simply amazing with weapon-stuff.  
**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

**.This chapter is...well, gory. Very. For me, anyway. So really, if you're squeamish or queazy or etc., don't read it. Okay? And don't get pissed off if you do read it and dislike it. That's not my fault. I warned you.**

**Thanks to: **Anda, Montague Disciple, Career Tribute, and Geth** for your kind reviews! **

_. . . _

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Eleven: Girl, District Ten_

_. . .  
_

I'm strong from the farms. I've taken care of cows and horses and plowed for my entire life. People…they're smaller than those animals. They would be easier to kill. People…they think. They would be harder to trap.

Torn between two thoughts, I don't know how to turn. Killing someone isn't a big deal, I know. We're all animals, anyway, and the livestock always dies somehow. And everyone dies anyhow—killing them would just be speeding up the process. So I'm resigned to killing. I know it's what I've got to do and I suppose it's not that awful.

The hard thing is that I have to figure out how. Easily I could stab them in the necks. If they didn't have brains, if they weren't on their guards. If they hadn't gone training, too. If they had lived all their lives in a field, grazing peacefully, as if nothing ever went wrong.

For a moment, I want to be a cow. Odd wish. But they're lucky, living in calm under a sweet blue sky, eating healthy green grass, fresh from the ground, newly grown from the sun and the rain. Then I remember that they're slaughtered in a short matter of time.

I shake my head. I'll be slaughtered anyway if I'm not careful.

I hear the gong sound not far away, and I rush to the Cornucopia, my sun-bleached ponytail whipping behind me.

Granted, they won't have my farming tools. I'll have to make do with something else, a sword, maybe. No stopping now. I have to keep heading forward towards the Cornucopia or surely I'll be killed.

Feeling the sun beat down on my head, I know I'll do fine. I'm used to the sun, used to killing….

Upon reaching the Cornucopia, I grasp at the closest weapon.

There's a sniggering noise behind me, and I whirl around. A boy I don't know, maybe a Career, maybe not, swings a flail around. Its chains clank as he effortlessly twirls the handle. "Hey," he says, a sly grin on his face.

"Hey," I reply, trying to keep my cool. Maybe I can grab that flail from him.

I reach forward, my hand quick, and he bashes it down, repeatedly. In less than thirty seconds, my hand is gone—really, most of my arm from the elbow is. Ragged, bleeding flesh is what's left. I gasp. Flails shouldn't be this sharp. They and maces were designed to crush heads, not make one bleed. Must've been altered by the Capitol to add to the gore.

Looks as if I can't get that flail after all.

He laughs as if seeing blood is wonderful…. It's not as if I hate it, but I don't love it, either. This boy is insane.

"Much more fun than setting traps," he says, grinning. "Much more fun."

I wanted to keep my dignity, killing people, winning. Surely that won't happen now. Because half my arm is gone, and I am crying, bawling really, from the fear and the pain, the horrible, terrible pain. It sends wave after wave of pure _awfulness_ through my body.

I've been hurt before. Farming's not all sunshine and daisies. But nothing ever like this. Never like this.

"Don't move," says the boy, and I whimper. "Even if you do, I'll catch you." I try to break away, sure he can't, but that awful Capitol-flail swings down and catches me in the leg. I stumble and try to get back up, but I can't. My leg is together, still in one piece, but barely. Shredded bits of flesh, like decade-old clothing.

I don't try to move again. Because I know he really will catch me.

Of course, even if I try to move, I won't be able to. I couldn't stand up for my life. _Great choice of words_, I think bitterly. _Because it's true. And he's going to kill you…._

What I'd give to be back at the farm now.

The boy smirks, his eyes gleaming cruelly, madly. I begin to try to crawl away, sobbing loudly. "Oh God, oh, God," I pant.

One goal is in my mind: Get away. But it doesn't seem at all possible.

Is this how the cows feel when we kill them? No…I'm worse off. They're not tortured before they die.

"This weapon is actually rather difficult," I hear the boy tell me casually. His voice seems distant and distorted. But that's probably just my pain blocking it out. "I'd do better with a spear. I ought to get one after this."

_After what_? I wonder. The way he said that seems significant. Then I know. Too late.

I vaguely wonder if slaughtering the cows was ever any different then killing a human as the flail catches me in the head, effectively smashing it inwards.


	12. Death Twelve: Girl, District Eight

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself. **

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

**Thanks to: **Ding, Anda, and SlapphappySpazzes** for your kind reviews. I believe I replied to all of them, and I was YIMing with Ding, so...**

. . .

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Twelve: Girl, District Eight_

_. . .  
_

It was so hot during the day that I am sure that the Gamemakers have intentionally made it this cold tonight. I only got a few things at the Cornucopia, though—a bottle filled with water and a burlap sack with a few lumps of coal in it and a small packet of matches—but it's still so cold and I need a place to make a fire. Because freezing to death seems so plausible right now I don't know what I'm going to do without one.

I've been walking almost all day. The water bottle is now nearly empty because of how _hot _it's been. I zip my jacket tighter. My stylist told me that the material would keep me warm—as if! My teeth are chattering so hard I think they'll crack into a million pieces. And I know clothing; that's what my district makes, after all. Sure, it's got a certain fabric to keep in my body heat, but what body heat do I have to keep in?

During the week before the Games started, I took all sorts of lessons. Mostly nature ones, because in District Eight, there's not much nature, and I needed to be prepared for anything. I took fishing, knotting, and luckily, fire starting.

The fire-starting lessons will definitely come in handy.

I hurry through the dark forest, stumbling but gathering wood as best I can. I can't find much—there aren't as many fallen branches as I'd hoped—so my fire probably won't be too big or too warm.

Eventually, I settle down near some pine trees, arranging my twigs and sticks carefully, adding in my precious few pieces of coal. I find some rocks, too, to put around the tinder in a circle so it doesn't spread. Then I try over and over to light the matches that were in my pack. They run out quickly. I was better lighting the fires at the lessons with flint, though I don't know why. Matches I am no good with.

Finally, I get a spark, and it erupts into a huge flame with some care. Now I can finally warm my hands, my shaking body.

I am not sure how long I sit there in the darkness, the soft glow of my fire illuminating a golden circle around me. After a while I'm finally warm, if only slightly, and that's all it takes for me to drift off to sleep.

When I awake, I see a pack of Careers looming over me, holding out their weapons threateningly. One girl has a quiver of silver arrows; the boy, I think from her district, has a spear; another boy has a long, gleaming sword, and the girl standing next to him is armed with a wickedly sharp knife; another girl who also has a spear; the third boy, standing off to the side, wields a dagger in one hand.

"Oh, no, please, no," I say before I can stop myself, knowing what they're about to do. "Don't kill me, please, please, don't, I don't want to die, I want to live, please oh please, oh God, don't hurt me…." It's useless.

The boy with the sword plunges it forward and I let out a suffering scream. Then there's a haze of pain, such awful pain, that I can hardly breathe. I hear cheer about how another is down and they roughly push around my body, obviously hoping I've got something good on me, but the joke is on them because I have nothing. And now they're walking away, still hooting, as blood pools over my body, soaking my clothes….

But I'm not dead. I've survived. Whatever the boy with the sword did wasn't enough. I'm alive!

My hope vanishes in a moment when I hear loud footsteps coming my way. I open my eyes and look up to see the boy who has the dagger. His blond hair falls over his eyes, his pale skin practically glowing in the near-morning light.

"Hello," he says in a hushed voice. "District Eight, right?" I want so badly to scream at him, to beg for him to go away but I know I can't talk, at least not right now. I don't know what he's doing. He holds out his knife carefully. "Did you work in the factories?" he asks. "To make clothing?" I don't respond. "I think that'd be a fun job," he says, "although I prefer cake decorating, myself."

I feel almost comforted by his words. I don't think he knows I can hear him, but at least he's talking. "This won't hurt," he whispers, and then there's a stabbing pain, but it's over so quickly.

And I'm colder than I've ever been.


	13. Death Thirteen: Girl, District Four

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself.**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

**.In this one, I tried something new (for me, anyway). I don't know if I used flashbacks yet, but I like how they turned out in this one. Enjoy :)**

**Thanks to:** RealityShowFan, Montague Disciple, Anda, Geth, Shadowleaf, and OnlyAtTwilight** for your kind reviews! I replied to them all, to my knowledge.**

_. . ._

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Thirteen: Girl, District Four_

_. . .  
_

Glimmer was on guard. And she fell asleep.

As the mass chaos ensues and golden-bodied wasps furiously swarm towards my group and me, I scream, "Run!"

Cato jumps up immediately and surveys what's going on. With a cry of "To the lake!" he gathers his things hastily and hurries away, followed by others, also shouting, "To the lake! To the lake!" I try to follow, but I feel a tracker jacker—I'm sure that's what these are now, they're following us, and I can't seem to evade them—sting me on the ear, then the shoulder through my jacket and shirt, then my leg. More come.

I totter after my fellow Careers, but it doesn't seem to be of use. I feel myself go a few more steps and then crash to the ground, unable to move.

My mind blurs, taking me on trips to space, to District Four, to memories I've never bothered to unlock.

_Oddly, I find I'm back at the Capitol, eating at a table with my mentor, Lyna Tilt, and she's talking strategy. But I don't want to hear strategy! I'm a Career, I'm from District Four! And I will win these Games! I tell her so, but she doesn't believe me. She says, in a sweet voice as if to disguise that she loathes me—which I know she does—"Sweetie, you can't rely on where you're from. It won't always count."_

"_Of course it counts. That's why barely anyone from 12 or ten or nine ever wins!" I shoot back, my eyes blazing. "I'm going to win these Games. I know I will."_

"_No one can predict the future," Lyna whispers, leaning her head in. "You don't even know what the arena looks like." She sits up straight again. "You have to be prepared for anything."_

_I glare defiantly at her, gritting my teeth. "I am."_

"_It's my job to keep you alive. And you're going to listen to what I say." I keep my icy gaze trained on her face and say nothing, so she continues. "The first thing you're going to do is get whatever weapon you can at the Cornucopia, got it?" _

_I nod glumly. Lyna Tilt is my mentor, a former winner of the Games. And I must do what she says._

I shake my head. The pain from the stings…. I lift my head slightly, and I see that the one on my leg is swelling largely. First grape size, then as big as an apple. I watch it grow in fascination. All too quickly it is as large as a watermelon, and then it bursts purple liquid, spraying on me, covering me in sticky goo.

Pain…pain…pain…. I listened to Lyna Tilt. I did what she said. Got weapons, made sure I was in the Career pack. But that hasn't helped.

"_Learn to wield a knife. Odds are you won't be in an ocean no matter how much you want it," orders Lyna. "There may not be fishing poles, nets, spears. Be taught how to wrestle, how to fight with a sword."_

"_I don't need your help," I mutter, not thinking she can hear. "I know there will be what I need. I'll survive, and I'll be here to mentor the next girl from District Four!"_

_She looks at me sharply, her lips taut. "I'm the one who survived last from our district," she hisses. "It'd be best for you to listen."_

"_I am listening," I say, annoyed. "I know what you want me to do. But I can win this. I swear that I will win this."_

_Lyna fixes me with a stare that seems to burn fire in my soul. "Not everyone can stay true to their word."_

As I lie twitching on the ground, I realize Lyna was right. I am not going to be winning these Games. Someone else is. Because I can't win, being this helpless, with my many tracker jacker stings.

I bask in the memories of my mentor. Of my lost help. I had a chance…and I lost it. I took it for granted. I would choose to never do that again, but there's no way I can choose now, rethink it and relive it and make it perfect. That will never happen.

Now I feel a million tiny _things_—I think they're worms, like the ones we use for bait back in Four—crawling on me, wriggling on the bare parts of my skin: my neck, hands, and face. I cringe as they make their way around, leaving slimy, horrible trails. I don't think I can take it anymore, but I can't move.

Weakly, I call out, "Lyna?" As if she can help me. As if she even would. She gave me the option to let her help me, no matter how much she disliked me, and I threw it away. My chest feels tight. "I should've listened," I get out. I hope she hears me. I hope she knows that I'm grateful for her services. As my eyes drift shut, as my breathing shallows, I add, "Thank you."


	14. Death Fourteen: Girl, District One

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself.**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

**.Hey, this is the death of Glimmer. But this isn't very good, compared to _Glimmering Dust_, the one-shot dedicated to her and her dying thoughts, by Alexandrite Celestea aka Saph :P Go read it. [Saph, I hope you approve of my advertising for it...] Because honestly, guys, it's amazing, and I wanted to point it out because this is also Glimmer's death though no where near as good as Saph's version. --turned out rambly.**

_. . . _

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Fourteen: Girl, District One_

_. . .  
_

Having faith in the other Careers is stupid, I know. But it's automatic. I'm with them so often already that it's as if I'm among friends. But soon enough, I'll have to turn my back on them.

For now, I can trust them. After shooting a few bad arrows into the tree at a girl whose hope should be lower than it seems to be, I and my group are able to settle down to rest.

I only wake up once during the night, and that is only so I can keep watch. But I fall asleep instead, snoring against the tree trunk, and in the early morning, it's a loud buzzing that awakes me. I hear Sima, the girl from Four, screaming for us to run, and I don't hesitate to grab my bow and arrows and follow the group as the others yell, "To the lake!" over and over.

Feeling a sharp pain on my wrist, my hip, my knee, I wince and try to continue but can't. I try to hit, ward off, the wasps with my bow, but it doesn't work and they keep coming at me. I scream and scream, hysterical as I run in circles.

"Help!" I screech. "Riv, Cato, Clove, Sima! Come back, help!" I swat back a wasp with my bow, but it just gets angrier and stings me on the temple. "Please, help! Come back!"

But no one comes, and I trip over my own clumsy feet, landing in a heap on the grass. _They're going to come back_, I think. _They're going to come help me. They have to!_ The questions that nag me are _Will they? Do they want to? Are they still alive to help?_

I know I was stung by tracker jackers, but I think they're gone now. I feel my body twitch; I'm not in control of my muscles anymore. And minutes later, I can't move. I can't open my eyes, I can't try to get to my feet, I can't even loosen my fingers from the silver bow.

Images of things I've seen and never seen throughout my life pass through my head, swirling and mixing with each other. I see myself playing in the mud with a brother I don't have, glimpse the other tribute from my district telling me that he was going to win no matter what, feel my body burning with a fire that doesn't exist.

My fingers hurt intensely, as if they're being broken, the bones smashed to bits… Somehow even with my eyes closed, I can see it. The skin on my fingers being ripped to shreds of paper that float in the air in an exotic dancing circle, bobbing and twirling, higher and higher in the black sky until they're ignited and burst into flame. The fire rains down on me, burning my flesh, but I can't cry out despite the pain. I want to call out to the other Careers. Ask them to help. But they're not my friends, they never were, and I knew that. They didn't come back because they didn't care to save me. Then I'm being lifted, and no longer am I on fire but I'm a charred thing, being shoved roughly over into nothing.


	15. Death Fifteen: Boy, District Ten

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself.**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

**.Crippled boy from Ten here :P**

**Thank you to: **Geth, Caisha, Anda, HIT, AmongTheWinged, CareerTribute, SlapphappySpazzes, and Xara** for your kind reviews! **

_. . ._

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Fifteen: Boy, District Ten_

_. . .  
_

Weakness will be my salvation.

I have a bad leg. As in, the foot is gone, and it's crippled, on my right side. It's been that way since I was born, and I'm used to it. According to the doctors, I used to cry out in my sleep, begging for the pain to stop, but if there is pain any more, I don't know it. You don't feel pain when you've never felt anything different.

I got pretty beat up at the Cornucopia—but who didn't? I ended up with a sack full of foot and two full water containers. No weapons, though. I've been able to scrape by this way, limping my way through the field of grain.

No one but me is in this field, I think. I haven't heard a person for the longest time, seen anyone since the Cornucopia.

I think that right now, I'm being featured on the cameras. Surely, I am. I'm a cripple, and I'm young. I've made it through a couple days in the Games. I must have sponsors, must have people betting on me.

I pull a chunk of dry bread from my sack and munch on it as I walk forward. It's hot, so hot out here. I practically am dragging my leg through the tall grasses that sweep roughly against me with every movement.

Already I have encountered rattlesnakes and other poisonous animals. I had to kill one with a rock.

I'm a great shot.

Now it's slung around my neck, like an accessory. The Capitol audience has to help me, so do my family and friends back at home. And if they see how well I am doing, and they see my handicap, maybe they'll help more—pity, or the thought that I would do better if I were normal. Which I'm not.

I look up and gasp. Not far away stands the monstrous boy from 11. He's turned around, and I take this moment to run. My right leg flops uselessly, and really, I'm hopping, but it's better than nothing.

And then I step on it.

Another rattlesnake, hissing dangerously at me, swinging its tail. I back up slowly as I dare. But it lunges forward at me, slithering with one destination, and sings its teeth into my leg, through my pants. I let out a surprised cry, and it just sits there expectantly as I sink to my knees, as if waiting for me to die. Who knows, maybe it is.

But the pain, I can barely feel it. The snake bit my bad leg.

Even so, the poison will spread, and soon enough I will be dead.

There aren't any yucca roots for me to draw out poison with. I don't see anything that can help me. So I lie down on my back, my eyes shut tight, the pain registering full force now. I feel the blood leave my face, and cold perspiration beads on my forehead.

That rattlesnake must be convinced that I'm dead now, because with a hiss, it slithers away, and I'm left alone, withering in the hot sunlight until the poison has killed me.


	16. Death Sixteen: Boy, District Three

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself. **

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

**.Sorry if this is inaccurate; my friend is borrowing my much-used copy of _The Hunger Games_ right now.**

**Thanks to:** CareerTribute, Shadowleaf, HIT, SlapphappySpazzes, Xara, Montague Disciple, Anda, and Geth** for your kind reviews! Haha, bag of foot. Fixed, by the way.  
**

_. . ._

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Sixteen: Boy, District Three_

_. . .  
_

I've been as careful as I can. Staying alive is no longer a want, a hope—it's a need and it has to prove true. I have to stay alive. I've tried so hard, I've been so cautious…

Helping the Careers was not something I really wanted to do. To ally myself with them could be a mistake. For all I know, I could turn around to see Clove poised in front of me, ready to stab a knife in my chest. But I can't think of that, I know I can't. I've just got to stay on my toes.

Reactivating the mines was quite a trick, but it was worth it. Because for now, I've got the Careers on my side. For now, they need me.

What a thought. The Career Tributes needing a wimp from District Three. But it's true: They need my help. Without me, they wouldn't be able to be so free with what they do. They wouldn't be able to just leave their food, because now they can and it's because I made the mines able to go off again at any slight pressure.

In my own way, I'm a hero.

But I'll only be able to keep that status if I stay alive. And I can only survive if I'm careful.

Every day, I am the one who goes into this mined area to grab the Careers what food they want, what weapons, what delicacies. If they want something, I have to get it for them.

Not that I'm complaining. It is not as if they could easily get their things themselves. These people are pampered, always have been safe throughout their lives. And I created this trap; I should be the one to risk my life in it.

Today, Cato has dragged us all off on a wild goose chase, following after smoke trailing in the sky. I wanted to tell him that it was carefully crafted. That no one would be so not cautious. But I had to be careful, so I followed him. I kept my mouth shut, and I did what the Careers told me to do.

And then there is the explosion. We don't know who did it, but their intentions are clear. Obviously, they wanted to steal our food. And obviously, they failed.

They should have been more careful, like me.

The Careers begin to approach the ruins, so I throw a rock into the ash and debris that used to be our supplies to make sure that there will be no more explosions.

"It's safe," I say, my voice quiet, guarded. I wonder if Cato is mentally stable now. He's so angry, so mad…. Beating the ground with his fists, screaming in his deep voice at the sky, ripping out his hands with those gigantic hands.

Then he turns at me, begins to yell. "What were you thinking?" he shouts. I can't move, no matter how badly I want to. I was wary, I did my job so well. I did what they asked. "You blew up our supplies! WE HAVE NOTHING LEFT AND IT IS BECAUSE OF YOU!" And now he's running toward me.

I turn and try to sprint away but it doesn't work.

Cato wraps his arms around my neck, puts me in a headlock, and I can't break free. He's too powerful.

I was alert. I did everything I could to stay alive.

Now he's about to kill me.

"You should've been more careful," he whispers, his rancid breath filling my nostrils. I don't want that to be the last thing I smell before I die. "And now you're going to die, District Three." I blink. I've been working with them and they don't even know my name? For some reason, that thought digs into my mind, pounds out everything else.

Cato repeats softly, "You should've been more careful."

I can only think, _But I was, Cato_, and then he jerks his arms and I hear my neck crack.


	17. Death Seventeen: Boy, District One

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself.**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

**Thank you to: **Geth, ShadowLeaf, Caisha, Megfly, CareerTribute, Jake, SlapphappySpazzes, Xara, DestinyHope, Soldier of Halla, and Montague Disciple** for your kind reviews! And whoa, that's a LOT of reviews. You all make me happy :) And sorry to those of you I didn't reply to; FFN wouldn't let me reply and I was angry at it. So like, at all of you: Thanks so much, and I'll try to reply next time. Oh, and Jake, because you're anonymous: I can't e-mail you because I do not have your e-mail - FFN was updated and I'm guessing the e-mail thing doesn't work anymore or something like that. Maybe get an account?**

**.This is the boy from One. And yes, he is gay. If you have a problem with that, tell me, and I won't do anything about it =P  
**

_. . ._

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Seventeen: Boy, District One  
_

_. . ._

I've caught something in my net, thank all. Cato and Clove are not with me, but I've caught something! If it's a person, a victim, Cato and Clove will treat me better. If it's a kill, I'll be respected.

I hope it is. I need their respect.

Then I hear a scream and a wail, and I know I've got someone. Is it District 12? That would be the best…Cato would absolutely love me for it. I imagine the feeling of his arms wrapping around me, the touch of his lips on mine… I follow the scream, finding the small girl from 11 in my net.

The little girl, the twelve-year-old is screaming louder now. "Katniss!" she calls, her face a mask of fear. It takes a moment for me to remember that Katniss is the girl from District 12…maybe I can take her out to, because I hear her calling back, "Rue!" I chuckle grimly.

Then I cut the net down from the tree. This _Katniss_ sounds far enough away.

Oh, Cato will be so damn glad that I did this. Maybe he'll even kiss me again.

I see District 12 running towards us now. There's a horrified look on her face, and I know she feels powerless. I can see the second that she's frozen in time, held by fear. Even if she can't tell, it's there, and it's owning her entire being.

Which gives me enough time to shoot my spear into District 11's side.

She lets out a cry, and I feel a smile creep onto my lips. Soon Cato and I would be together again, and I would have the respect I deserved from them. They'll both treat me better than they do.

The girl Katniss calls Rue will soon be dead. I'm about to pull my spear out from the dying child's body so that I can kill the oncoming girl when I hear the whizzing sound.

Looking in the direction of it, I don't have time to register what's happening. All there is, is a blur of emotions and memories:

_Hate to Regina Cox for what she did in second grade—_

_Training with Dad when I turned four—_

_Learning to mine gems at the school—_

_Coming out to my parents—_

_Readiness when I was chosen at the reaping—_

_Mom telling me she loves me—_

"_Marvel, once you kill…there will be more time together…"— _

_Finally caught someone in my net—_

The arrow pierces my neck, and I feel pain. It surges through me, engulfing my body in horror and agony.

But it is so short lived.


	18. Death Eighteen: Girl, District Eleven

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself.**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

**.And I haven't updated in more than two months. I am so sorry :(**

**Thank you to: **SoldierOfHalla, Me, Elly, Caisha, SlapphappySpazzes, Megfly, Geth, September Sorrows, Rayne, and Montague Disciple **for your reviews! I have got no idea if I replied or not because it was all so long ago, before school started months ago...but thanks! =)**

. . .

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Eighteen: Girl, District Eleven_

_. . .  
_

Her hair was tangled and matted and dirty, and her gray eyes were wild. Her voice ragged, Katniss Everdeen asked if I would be her ally. And I accepted. I wasn't sure why at the time, but I was ready to go with her. I even would go as far as to say I liked her—because I did.

Katniss was like the sister I never had. The older sister, who I could depend on. Instead of the younger siblings depending on me, for once.

And I trusted her. At first, I wasn't sure why; it was just a subconscious feeling. But then in realized: it was the pin she wore. Small, round, and gold. Of a mockingjay.

Mockingjays are, have been, and always will be my friends—even if I die in here. Because they've been with me all this time. I can always turn to those birds, always can hear their comforting whistles returned to my ears, and seeing one flying on Katniss's shirt dissolved any suspicions I might have had about her. That she liked mockingjays, had a mockingjay, was a good boost.

And now I'm setting up our third fire. The Careers should be looking for me soon, and I feel a fluttering in my chest. Maybe District 11 will have a winner this year.

I'll make sure Katniss or I win. We deserve it, one or the other. I saw her volunteer for her sister on the train when we saw reruns. I saw the fear and desperation on her face.

Someone who cares that much…she's just like me, only older, caring for the younger sibling in that way. If I had been in her spot, I would have done the same thing.

I finish placing my green plants down, and then I hear a noise.

It's far off, but then I notice the smoke beginning to sputter from the second fire. I know I have to go back. So I do.

Easily I scout my way toward the fire through the trees. If anything, the Careers will mistake me for a large squirrel. That's how it's happened so far, on the rare occasions that they do notice me.

I see them quell the fire, and they know it's a trick. My breath catches and I don't breathe, and after a while, the Careers get bored. They don't find any clues, though I do. I was stupid enough to leave footprints, though slight, and a few other things.

The Careers are so stupid. They're lucky they're big and trained, or they'd be long dead.

They converse for a few minutes, and then the three of them stalk off, and I slide down from the tree. I feel like walking, though I don't know why.

I suppose I need to stretch my legs.

So I jog toward the third fire. It's about a mile away, so I slow my pace after a few minutes. Why bother wasting energy? I wonder.

Then I hear the boy behind me. I scurry up the nearest tree, scraping my skin on the branches. But he's heard me.

By now it's getting dark. The sun is setting, rosy streaks crossing the sky.

"District 11," the boy from One snarls. "Get down."

I'm not afraid of him. He doesn't know I can just hop away. But this tree's a bit far from another. Maybe I can make it.

I didn't grow up working in an orchard for nothing.

But he stays at the base of the tree, and he calls to me repeatedly. Quickly, I jump to the next tree. It's a quiet leap, and District One doesn't seem to notice.

I'm wearing Katniss's backpack, and I unroll the sleeping bag carefully in a fork in the branches. I settle carefully in, hoping Katniss is all right and watching the darkened sky. I was unable to light the third fire.

Whatever state Katniss is in, she'll be worried, and I can't do a thing, marooned as I am.

Still, I'm comfortable as possible here. And that's saying something.

I wake up when dawn is barely breaking, and I see the boy sleeping beneath me. Time to make some tracks, I decide, and I stuff the sleeping bag into the backpack.

Cautiously I start to head in the direction to the unlit fire. I pounce from this tree to the next, leaves rustling quietly. The boy does not wake up.

A few trees down the trail, I swiftly make my way down the trunk. Yes, I'm good in trees, but I'm faster on land. I begin running, the backpack straps bouncing on my shoulder blades.

But then I'm caught in a net before I realize that it's there.

Immediately, I start to scream. I don't mean to, it'll just draw the boy from One here. But I can't get out of this…

"Katniss!" I yelp, panicking. I call her name as loudly as I can. She's my only hope, I don't want to die. I want to get back home. I close my hands into fists.

My throat hurts as I call "Katniss!" again. This time, there's the answering call of "Rue!"

I shout her name more, trying to get her to find me.

The boy is here, too. He's heard my shouts. And now I see Katniss, poised to shoot her arrow. Yet I know she's too late.

District One cuts down the net and expertly throws the spear at me. My breath catches in my throat, and through a haze of pain I watch Katniss kill him.

"Are there more?!" she yells, and I tell her no several times. There must be something wrong with her hearing, though I don't know what.

Katniss sits beside me, pulls my head onto her lap, and I ask if she's going to leave. She tells me "'Course not. Staying right here." Her voice is thick. I don't want Katniss to be upset. I want her to be tough, because if anyone wins, I want it to be her. Or Thresh. We never knew each other, just passed by sometimes in the street, but he's from home, and it'll be better for my family if he wins.

"Sing," I whisper, and Katniss seems to hesitate.

Then her voice, lulling and clear cuts through my pain and soothes me till my eyes close and I don't feel anything anymore.


	19. Death Nineteen: Girl, District Two

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself.**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

**Thank you to: **Rayne Marie,** the quickest reviewer ever, for your sweet review :)**

_. . ._

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Nineteen: Girl, District Two_

_. . .  
_

I've made it so far, and I refuse to stay in this arena for much longer. I want to be home again, in my nice, feather-fluffed bed, in my warm little District, eating strawberries and hanging out with my friends in my spare time. I've had enough of roughing it.

What kind of life is this? Who could live off the forest? I never could. When I wasn't training, which was not too often, back home, I could have anything I wanted.

A pang hits me. I miss District Two, and the longing to be home courses through me like waves in District Four's ocean, the ocean I've always wanted to go to. And now I have my chance—at the Victory Tour.

Once I win, I can go back home.

At least I have Cato with me. He's like a piece of home, almost. We were friends, actually, just not closely. Sometimes we'd sit together at lunch in a large group or talk after school.

I won't be going home alone, and that comforts me. Cato won't have to die, and neither will I.

When Claudius Templesmith announces the feast at the lake, Cato and I have a plan devised almost immediately. We're already near the lake, so we just hide out close by and wait.

Cato will be concealed in the nearby brush and I'll go in for it. We don't know who I'll end up capturing, but it should be kind of easy.

The little girl, Rue, is dead. We saw it in the sky last night, along with Marvel's face. I can't say I felt any remorse at Rue's death—she never could have survived anyway, and I've never liked kids—but Marvel was all right. I stayed indifferent, though.

Why get close to anyone I know won't be coming home with me?

Dawn is setting light, vibrant streaks across the sky now, and Cato gives me a thumbs up. I nod and scurry forward, waiting for easy prey.

Only a few others could possibly be here.

The girls from Districts Five and Twelve and the boy from Eleven. I know the boy from Twelve couldn't possibly show up. It's surprising his face hasn't shown up above me at twilight yet.

Now my eyes catch a movement. There's a table rising, with backpacks ranging in size and color with numbers on them. Twelve's is small. Maybe I should go in for it.

A dash in the corner of my eye seizes my attention and I see Five sprinting forward, grabbing her backpack, and hurrying away.

Oh well. She wasn't my target, I'm sure of it now.

Girl on Fire, prepare to die, I think.

I look back to see Cato heading in Five's direction. I want to yell at him to come back, it's not worth it, but I can't, because I see District Twelve running for her bag.

So I go in to get her.

Easily I tackle her down. She calls for Peeta, the wimp. I tell her that I know where Cato cut him, and she must be barely keeping him alive. I ask what's in her bag.

Then I take out my array of knives, which are strapped in my jacket. "I promised Cato that if he let me have you, I'd give a show."

She grimaces.

"Give Loverboy one last kiss," I mock as I begin to cut her lip. She spits in my face, which flushes with rage.

Somewhere along the line, she gets a huge gash on her forehead. I can barely tell what's happening, now, as I'm worked into a rage.

All I know is that she has to die if I'm to get home, and I'm attacking, and she's attacking back, and as I'm about to deliver a horrible blow, I'm lifted up in huge hands.

I scream for Cato.

He must not be far off, because he's calling my name, too.

I hear his rough voice in the distance, yelling, "Clove!" But he's too far. The thought that I won't be going home flashes through my mind.

There are so many things I'll miss.

Then my attacker looks at me, and I look at him, and I'm wishing Thresh had joined up with the Careers because he would've been an amazing ally instead of my killer. He's holding a huge rock in his hand, and before I can process what he's about to do with it, or wish I was back home again, he brings it down into the side of my skull.


	20. Death Twenty: Boy, District Eleven

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself.**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

**.I'm tired, I should sleep, and I haven't reread HG for a few months. Don't hate me for suckish chapter XD**

**Thank you to: **Rayne Marie** again, for your awesome review! You're the best :D  
**

_. . ._

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Twenty: Boy, District Eleven  
_

_. . ._

I will never feel sorry for killing the girl from District Two.

I don't care if I live or if I die because I know I saved a life even if I reaped one. I helped someone keep a good life, and I cut down a cursed one.

And now it is even between me and the fire girl.

But it will never be even between me and the small one. I didn't know her, just passed her by. We didn't talk in the training center, barely acknowledged each other, ever.

Yet I will be forever grateful that she lived. I know what she did in the district. And I know that she got very far in the Games, just like me. We're showing the rest of Panem how well District Eleven can do, even if we don't win this year.

Although, I feel like I have to survive. To make up for the little girl's death.

After killing the girl from District Two, I ran. I didn't go back to my fields. They were dangerous for others and safe for me, but I don't think I could go back. It is too far in the Hunger Games for that act, and if I do I'll be seen as scared.

Which I am not.

It's been raining for a while, storming. It's obvious why, of course—the battle I will have with Cato, planned by the Gamemakers.

If the Capitol wants a fight, a fight the Capitol will get.

Not yet, though. I want Cato to find me. If he can.

I will not be marked as an easy target. There are only five of us left. It should not be too hard from now on.

The one I worry most about is the District Five girl, right after Cato.

I don't know about killing the girl on fire. I don't owe her anymore, but she seemed good.

It's hard to kill the pure, but I will do what I have to.

I'm soaking wet, but I don't care. I know Cato will surface soon, because if it takes too long for us to find each other, the Gamemakers will bring us together. Surely the boy from Two will want shelter. But I don't need it. He's been pampered his whole life, I have not.

I can wait.

Sure enough, though, Cato finds me. It's a while later, and I've got a good supply of rocks ready. They killed his district partner, and maybe seeing them will unhinge him.

Lighting streaks across the sky, and he spots me. Without hesitation, Cato lunges forward at me. I throw a large rock but it bounces off him almost harmlessly.

Now it occurs to me to wonder what he received in his backpack. I didn't need much, just a weapon. My backpack supplied me with a scythe, just like I use during the harvest. I've hidden it nearby, and I think it's time to get it out.

Cato was slightly deterred at my small boulder, but he's now coming steadily. I refuse to let this boy win.

I have to be the one to win. For the little girl. I think she deserved to win. She was too young to die.

No one her age deserves death or even pain.

My scythe is rather small, but it has to be effective or it wouldn't have been sent.

As I take a slice at Cato, my blade bounces back.

What did the boy get? Body armor?

Then I know what I'm truly up against. An invincible man.

Determined is one quality of mine if I had to name any. I preserver. I can't give up, not till this boy dies.

When his own weapon flashes brightly in the brilliant lightning, I don't know whether or not I _can_ win, no matter how badly I need to.

It's a deadly-looking sword. I've seen him in training, and I don't want this used on me.

Against my wishes, Cato's sharp, evil weapon slices forward, cutting through the air with a whistling sound.

Thoughts pass quickly through my mind, all morbid, all apologetic. Still I am not sorry for killing the girl from two. Still I am not sorry for wanting this boy to die so much. Still I feel like even though I saved the District Twelve girl's life, I still owe her. Still I wish the little girl from my district had lived.


	21. Death TwentyOne: Girl, District Five

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself.**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

**.I'm tired, I should sleep, and I haven't reread HG for a few months. Don't hate me for suckish chapter XD**

**Thank you to: **Rayne, Moonlight Mockingjay, Dee, Elly, Slapphappy Spazzes, and Megfly** for your patience and awesome reviews!**

. . .

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Twenty-One: Girl, District Five_

_. . .  
_

Stealth is everything. It is what I breathe and what I think and what I feel. It is what I must have to survive.

When my name was called from the reaping ball, my heart leaped. But already, I felt some sort of power washing through me, and it was what I needed for the Games. Because after my body went numb it began to teem with a new sort of feeling, like fire all through my veins. And I was ready.

I've gotten through so far, and I'm in the last few people. Just a couple to knock out. Katniss, Peeta, Cato.

Katniss and Peeta will be easy to kill, I know. That boy is so loud I could just sneak up on them both. Take out the girl first because she would be able to defend herself if I went to her boyfriend as my initial act. He is in no condition to help his life if I get to him. I could just steal Katniss's weapon while she sleeps, or something.

It will be easy.

Cato will starve himself out, eventually, anyway. What does he know of the wild? I don't know as much, either, actually, but I'll have District Twelve's leftovers.

I'm watching them now, actually. "Peeta, go collect berries," Katniss orders. I'm not too far off, concealed easily in a bush.

It's a true wonder that they don't see me. All I've done was follow other tributes nearly the entire Games, once I got myself settled. It's so much fun, spying and knowing they can't see me, can't kill me. I'm so much faster than they are, and I'm so much stealthier. Trickier to find, hiding as I always do. I'll soon go into the kill. Just like a fox.

But first I'll need to eat. Peeta begins to hum absentmindedly to himself as he collects berries. They look just like the ones Katniss has been eating for a while. Since she was with Rue.

Peeta sets his little collection of berries on a rock near their cave and wanders off to find Katniss or something, or maybe eat extra food. I don't know, I don't care. I'm starving. I haven't dared to steal their food for a couple days, and plus, it was raining. I was caught in my own cave.

Now I take a small bit of their ball of cheese and a handful of the delicious-looking berries and run. Back to my own hideout.

It's not far from theirs, really: It's close enough to get to them in a hurry, but far enough to conceal me. Not that it would be hard. I don't make much noise or do anything to get myself noticed. I'm not stupid. I'm not Peeta.

Katniss would have been a worthy ally, I think as I pop a small bit of cheese in my mouth. Then I decide, No, because I would have had to kill her. Better to be off on my own.

I finish the cheese and sigh wistfully, my stomach now growling for more. I toss a couple berries into my mouth and chew.

They taste odd. Not a good odd. But…

The word hits me as I collapse to the ground, wondering why I hadn't caught this before, with all my intelligence and stealth. I was just too hungry to see it: _Poison._


	22. Death TwentyTwo: Boy, District One

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself. I don't own any quotes I used from the book.  
**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

**.Updation! :D Heeeere's Cato!  
**

**Thank you to: **Rayne Marie, Montague Disciple, and Hahukum Konn** for your awesome reviews!**

_. . ._

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Twenty-Two: Boy, District 1  
_

_. . ._

I can barely breathe, but I force air into my lungs. _Pant if you have to_, I tell myself, _but keep breathing. This is what you're trained for_. I've been getting ready for the Games for years. Eighteen years of training. This is my last chance. This is what I have been waiting for.

Forget the mutts on my tail. I can outrun them. I have my armour, after all. It could break their teeth if I'm lucky.

But I haven't been lucky lately.

I volunteered. My last shot as a victor. I knew I could do it. And I have no doubts now. I will win. I will kill the two kids from Twelve. Even if I don't, I know nature will finish them off. Bread Boy won't be well off. I cut him deep and vitally.

Behind me, the muttation wolves growl. I have to get away. I've been running for miles, hours, now…

_Breathe._

The Cornucopia lies up ahead. It's at least twenty feet high. Made of solid gold. Those mutts can't possibly get me while I'm up there. And eventually the Gamemakers will call them away, once they see I can't be hurt by any of their damned creatures.

I run past the two from District Twelve, barely noticing them. They're just blurs, after all. _Almost there. _Maybe the mutts will finish them off, though I rather want to get…what's her name? Katniss…myself. Make her death an entertainment for not only the Capitol but for me. It was her fault and Eleven's for Clove's death, which I will have no trouble avenging. Clove was the only one here I trusted in the slightest. We could have won together... _Breathe._

Climb…climb…breathe…climb…

I'm at the top, I'm panting, my tongue hangs out over the edge of the Cornucopia.

I've done it.

I see the girl glaring at me, aiming her arrow. I'd smile, but that would take away from my breathing…an arrow could not hurt me.

Pathetic Peeta. Katniss has to go back and help him.

I cough, "Can they climb it?"

Only now am I having doubts.

_Don't let them be able to climb it. Please._ I've trained too long, worked too hard. These mutts cannot possibly be my demise.

The muttations are too close. I don't like it. They're sniffing around, touching the Cornucopia with their gigantic paws. Pain from running cramps double me over, and let out a groan. The yipping of the mutts is sharp and painful in my pounding ears.

Peeta and Katniss have climbed up.

I keep breathing. Breathing is my lifeline.

I must live, and they must die. It is a simple enough thought. So why is the task so difficult to carry out?

And I watch Peeta slip over the side as a mutt grabs his leg.

Wishing I could chuckle, I cough instead, realising with gratitude that my panting is subsiding. _Breathe._ No more difficulty. I watch the two carefully. Katniss pulls Peeta back up on to the horn, and they're both terrified, regaining confidence, silent.

I yank Peeta away from Katniss as she's glancing downward at the mutts. I hold him in a tough headlock, one I learned from wrestling as a child. Pitifully he tries to claw at my arm. It does him no good. I'm wearing foolproof armour, after all.

_Breathe._ It's no longer a difficulty.

Good.

Katniss poises herself and loads an arrow to her silver bow.

"Shoot me and he goes down with me," I laugh coldly. I'm so close to winning. I know she won't endanger Peeta. From what I know, he loves her, and she loves him back.

Peeta has stopped clawing at my arm. His lips are gaining a blue tint, and I smile. When he's gone, I'll finish Katniss. I'll have won; all my training will have paid off.

I will not have volunteered for nothing.

I will succeed. I will win.

With the blood from his leg, Peeta feebly paints an x-mark on my hand. I realise what it means a second too late, because the arrow hits and I let go of Peeta, teetering over the edge.

It's impossible to let air into my lungs. Was this how Peeta felt? The air is knocked totally out of my lungs…this was how Peeta felt…_breathe_….

And the muttation wolves attack me.

At first, it's almost nothing. A near tickling sensation. But they tear through the armour so quickly, amazingly fast.

The armour was not built to defend me from mutts, obviously.

"Argh!" I cry, swinging an arm at the creatures. I lost my sword long ago. "Augh…." They won't relent. And they don't.

Where's my dagger? It's somewhere in this bloody mess of clothing…

A glint of metal, my metal, shines through the air, and I begin to fight back. Along with my yells of pain, there are also the screeches of the mutts as I start to take them on.

But there are so many. How can I possibly…no, I have to. I've worked too hard. I have a girlfriend to get back to. A sister. A mother and a father and a best friend. A dog, Eradicator.

I continue to fight. _Breathe!_ I yell at myself. _Fight! You will win!_

Then they overtake me. One claws the dagger from my hand, and I fall helplessly.

They begin to devour me, outside inward. There's a haze of pain, and hours of agony.

My acts throughout the Games pass through my mind. I am not sorry for a single thing that I did.

All I've done was to survive.

All I've done was not enough.

It's dark and cold, and I'm losing all sense of being. _Leave me alone, go away, I'm supposed to win…I'm not dying, I'm not supposed to be dying…I'm winning…._

I don't know what I'm thinking and what I'm saying aloud through my dry throat. "Let me be…" _Help me, anyone…_ "I can't die, I don't want to die…" _No no no I can't go like this no no no I can't go no no no… _"Stop, make it stop!" I beg for the pain to end. It does not.

Finally I let my pleads fade into whimpers.

The stupid beasts do not speak English, anyway.

Tears run down my cheeks. I never knew I was capable of crying.

_Breathe._ It's not an easy request, because I think one of them might be salivating over one of my exposed lungs.

I imagine that Katniss and Peeta are up on the Cornucopia, satisfied and safe and content. But they cannot possibly be imagining that I am gone, or am going to be gone. Because I shall not perish. I've trained too hard. Eighteen years, since the day I was born.

It's hard to tell, but I think the sun rises. The mutts are still working over me. I'm surprised that they've only taken one of my eyes so far.

Through the fog, I see Katniss leaning over the edge of the Cornucopia, staring at me. She looks…concerned? Not as if she hates me. Who could hate me, anyway? I always imagined I was a wonderful person.

Not that I'm much of a person now.

_Please,_ I try to call out to Katniss. I can see her bow. I need her to shoot me. _Please!_ Am I speaking, or just thinking? Is my mouth still there? I cannot tell.

_Just let me die. Slow torture doesn't become me. Please._

Katniss blinks at me, as if she knows. She loads her arrow.

I'll meet the mutts in Hell.

_Breathe,_ I murmur in my mind as Katniss's arrow shoots toward me.


	23. Death TwentyThree: Boy, District Twelve

**Disclaimer: I own not the Hunger Games or Suzanne Collins's works but my writing. I don't even really own the plot itself. I don't own any quotes I used from the book.  
**

**A/N: Because I'm morbid XD Ask Sole. Anyway, this is basically a recording of all the deaths, each one has its own little one-shot. And, btw, sorry if someone did this already. And I won't exactly record all their thoughts, cuz I do know that some people have done certain deaths, for sure. Hopefully this won't disappoint you. Enjoy, review!**

**.Bonus chapter. I feel like Peeta ought to have died.  
**

**Thank you to any reviewers that I may get after this! You're all amazing, anyone who's read or reviewed or flamed. Thanks. :)**

_. . ._

_.Never in Your Favor._

_Death Twenty-Three: Boy, District Twelve  
_

_. . ._

It's odd, but bread is what calms me. The smell, the texture, the contents. Filled with raisins, grainy, sweet and warm. I was named for a type of bread, after all.

I never wanted to die. I'd never dreamed I would have been called in the reaping. _Peeta Mellark_. Effie Trinket should have pulled another name. How about Jake Tellar? He had maybe had a shot. His family owned the shop across from mine. They sold clothes. The Tellars had good business, and they ate well.

There was one thing I got from the Games, though: Katniss.

But she's fickle. I can never tell which mood I'll catch her in. We've been through too much together. I think I'd break if she died or…or left me. I shouldn't be so dependent on Katniss, but I've never really had a hand to hold onto. My father and I aren't…weren't…aren't close, and my mother's awful.

I try not to think about them.

I try not to think about the blood I'm losing from my leg right now. "Think you could make it to the lake?" asks Katniss. I'm weak, but I don't want her to know just how much so I am.

"Think I better try," I reply carefully, and we slowly make our way to the bloodstained ground.

Katniss scoops a bit of cool lake water onto me, and then I ask, after it's too silent in the arena, "What are they waiting for?"

My wound's opened up again, and I'm wondering vaguely if I'll die right here, right now, from blood loss. Wouldn't matter much, anyway.

I wish I had some bread. Any type. Even the grainy stuff they have to eat in the Seam. I got a taste of it once and spat it right out. The stale bread I usually eat at home at dinner time is better.

"I don't know," returns Katniss edgily. She looks around, looking for something to close up my tourniquet I think, and grasps an arrow, one that bounced off Cato's armor.

And I hear Claudius Templesmith call out, Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

Then his voice is gone, and I look at Katniss in horror.

Who's to die?

"If you think about it, it's not that surprising," I murmur. I stumble to a standing position and tug a knife from my belt.

I'll throw it into the lake. I would never kill Katniss.

I watch her load her bow in no time. She tugs on the arrow, the string, and lets go, mouthing, "I'm sorry."

Did she think I meant to hurt her?

The knife crashes into the lake just before the arrow pierces my chest.

Katniss looks crestfallen. "I…I didn't mean to…I thought you…" She collapses to the ground, placing a hand on my arm. "Peeta? Peeta?"

The smell of burnt bread fills my nostrils. My mother smacks me across the face, and I hunker out into the rain and throw the two loaves to a shivering, eleven-year-old girl. I see her face now, morphing into my mother's, into my father's, into the faces of my brothers and friends at school, then, at last, a blood-soaked face of Katniss in the arena.

I give her a faint grimace meant to be something of a smile.

I would have died anyway.

Giving myself over to the scent of bread and memories, I let the blood flow from my heart and leg and from my life.


End file.
